


Hecate's Curse

by Tarlan



Category: Hercules: The Legendary Journeys, The Art of War (2000)
Genre: Greek Mythology - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-29
Updated: 2006-10-29
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:05:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Telamon incurs the wrath of Hecate, little is he to know where it will lead as he searches for a means of lifting the curse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hecate's Curse

**Author's Note:**

> From Hercules and the Lost Kingdom, where Telamon is played by Eric Close, and Art of War with Robert Bly by Michael Biehn.

"What is it?"

"My daughter, Aranaia, has incurred the wrath of Hecate by refusing her son's advances. She has sent the two-headed monster to savage all our livestock. Without our cattle and pigs we will have nothing to eat come the winter. We will all starve to death."

"Show me where this monster lies and I will slay it."

The old man led him through a field strewn with the carcasses of dead, mutilated animals to a hillside. There he found the dark entrance to a large cave. He could hear a loud rumble coming from within; deep and even and realized the monster was asleep. Telamon crept into the cave, sword in hand, stealthily making his way through the treacherous rocks towards a circle of light where he could see a massive shape sprawled upon the ground, surrounded by the discarded remains of the monster's meals. He stopped, freezing like a statue when his foot kicked against a pile of bones, the clatter reverberating around the cave. The monster stirred sleepily, one of the three eyes on each of his heads opening to gaze about but, sensing no danger, it closed its eyes and went back to sleep.

Telamon took the opportunity, leaping forward and swiftly decapitated both heads with a single stroke from his sword. He grabbed the severed heads by the hair and walked back to the cave entrance in triumph, holding up the heads for all the villagers to see. The people fell down to their knees before him, thanking him profusely and offering him food and all manner of comfort. With shoulders pulled back in pride, Telamon was about to accept when the ground began to shake. The people screamed and ran away leaving Telamon standing alone at the cave mouth, a severed head still grasped in each hand.

His eyes widened in fear as a beautiful yet cruel looking woman erupted from the ground, borne upon a black chariot drawn by dark, fire-breathing horses. Her scream filled the air, and she tore the clothes from her breast, rending the material in her grief.

Telamon dropped the heads, watching her eyes follow the heads as they bounced onto the ground, rolling down the hillside to the field below. Those grief-stricken eyes turned back to him, hardening as grief turned to rage. He gathered up his courage and faced the raging goddess.

"This monster was terrorizing the village, destroying their livestock."

"This monster was my son - and you could not even face him with honor, slaying him while he slept."

Telamon felt a jolt of guilt but then hardened, his pride coming to the forefront.

"I did what had to be done. Your son was a monster..."

"Heartless mortal. I curse you to wander forever as you are now, to love many a maiden and give each a son who will die before his twenty-fourth year of life. Perhaps then you will learn compassion for a mother's grief."

The ground opened up, swallowing the black chariot and its vengeful owner, leaving Telamon standing alone and stunned. With fear in his heart, he returned to Troy, overjoyed when the Gods revealed that he had a living older brother, Peleus.

The curse was forgotten as he joined Peleus on many adventures, even traveling with Jason upon the Argo in search of the Golden Fleece. Eventually, Telamon claimed the island of Salamis as his home, and he married a beautiful maiden who gifted him with a son they named Ajax. His wife died soon after and, after helping Hercules rid Troy of a second false king, Laomedon, who had tried to usurp Queen Deianaria, Hercules presented him with his second wife, Hesione. She bore him a son also, Teucer, an archer of uncanny skill.

The years passed slowly and it soon became apparent that he had not aged a single day. Doubt began to nibble at the corners of his mind, his thoughts returning uneasily to Hecate's rage and her grief-stricken words.

When Ajax committed suicide after a madness descended upon him, Telamon was unwilling to accept that the death of his first son was attached to Hecate's curse. He blamed Teucer for his half-brother's death, exiling him from Salamis, learning only later that Teucer had drowned when his ship tried to pass between the infamous Scylla and Charybdis.

Although he had comforted many a wife or lover over the decades which followed, the curse had remained. As the millennia passed he continued to watch his sons cut down in early manhood, either their warrior spirits sending them into battle or they succumbed to one of the many diseases inflicted upon mankind. He soon realized that the curse was not just the premature deaths of his sons and he began to shun the company of others, afraid to face the pain of losing loved ones as they grew old and died around him. There were many times when the pain grew too much to bear and he would take to the battlefield, allowing himself to be slain only to be turned back at the shores of the River Styx, refused entry to Tartarus on Hecate's orders.

Over time he sought out wise men, hoping one might be able to break the curse, or at least tell him how it could be lifted. He even visited Apollo's shrine at Delphi, hoping the Oracle would reveal any glimmer of hope in his future. None had been able to give him an answer, just responding to his question with a riddle.

_Salvation lies through blinding by the sun._

In desperation, Telamon had tried to take this literally, staking himself out beneath the glare of a desert sun but to no avail. His blindness lasted for almost a century but the curse remained.

So many centuries had passed since then. So many times he had given into the loneliness, hoping the curse may have been lifted, and then watching all pleasure turn to sorrow as a son was born and died. He had even taken a barren woman for his wife, believing she was the one who could lift the curse, only to see her joy at discovering her unexpected pregnancy turn to grief when their son died in battle before his twenty-fourth year.

Gradually he drew away from the company of women, finding to his surprise that he there was far greater pleasure lying with men instead. However, the hidden part of the curse still followed him as he watched his male lovers grow old and die, leaving him to go on alone.

The soothsayer, Calchis, had once told him that true love could break any curse inflicted on mankind and that, if he could find his true love then he would be free. Centuries passed and though Telamon had loved many over the millennia, he had to admit that he had never found that one true love.

-ooOOoo-

Telamon sighed and glanced down at his wristwatch, counting off the last few seconds of another western millennium. The roar of thousands of voices raised together, heralded the arrival of the year two thousand and Telamon shook his head, smiling as the people danced in the streets below. He could hear David Chan, the ever-pleasant host, bidding good wishes upon all those present as fireworks blossomed in the night sky. An image of the obese North Korean defense minister filled the viewing screen, and Telamon found himself hard pressed to contain his laughter as the man shoved away the young girl who was servicing him beneath the tabletop. From where he was standing he could see the beads of sweat glistening on the man's forehead under the pseudo-disco lighting effects, and his attention followed the fear-filled eyes back to the screen which was now displaying information on modern warfare weaponry.

Moments later his eyes narrowed in appreciation as the tall, well-muscled, dark-skinned man fought his way across the room and then leaped from the balcony. The staccato of gunfire followed, the noise easily missed, drowned out by the loudness of the music and raucous laughter, but Telamon watched as the parachute floated out of range.

He had no idea who the man was, or why he felt it so important to intimidate the Korean minister but it certainly made the start of the new millennium far more memorable than the previous one.

Telamon, who had taken the name Peter Troy in this decade, resolved to find out why he had made such a dramatic attempt at blackmail, calling upon his contacts within the CIA and, in doing so, he found Robert Bly.

-ooOOoo-

As Bly lay on his bed he thought back to the chance meeting with Neil Shaw. Seeing him alive and well in St. Tropez was unexpected, and then he realized how much he had missed the easy friendship they had shared when they had been partners. Thinking back, he never thought he would miss their camaraderie, and yet he had been quick enough to go up against Shaw, applying the principles he had read in the Art of War when the opportunity arose.

Chapter 13. The Doomed Spy. Sacrificing an agent without his knowledge to turn the battle in your favor.

If Bly had not been such a consummate professional then he might easily have balked at the assignment given to him by Eleanor Hooks. However, there had been more to it than just following orders. The strange rivalry between him and the younger agent had always intrigued him, and her orders gave him the chance to test himself against Shaw; to find out who was the best.

Shaw had won, not through being more skilled but due to Bly's arrogance in believing he was the better of the two. Underestimating his enemy had led to months of pain. He had spent the best part of six weeks with a tube down his throat helping him to breathe, and several operations had followed as the surgeons tried to repair some of the damage to his throat. He was amazed - and thankful - that they had managed to save his voice even though he could barely talk above a husky whisper these days.

Bly rubbed his fingers over the jagged scar. It was still a little tender, the sight and feel a constant reminder of his former arrogance. He was pleased his new supervisor had allowed him to get back to work again, even if it was only to take surveillance photos of Roger Cormack, a high profile media magnate who had his fingers in far too many pies of a dubious nature.

His new supervisor.

Strange how his thoughts always returned to Peter Troy; a handsome man with the body of a someone far too young to hold such a position of authority, but whose sapphire blue eyes held shadows of pain that seemed as old as time. Troy was an enigma, especially to Bly who had prided himself on being able to read people. If he had to guess Troy's age he would place him at mid-twenties, but the mind and the spirit of the man made Bly feel like a child in Troy's presence - and he did not want to be a child with Peter Troy.

With a snarl of anger at the direction that his thoughts were traveling, Bly refocused on Neil Shaw. He had not been the only person to spot Shaw and Julia Fang. There had been another, an older Asian man dressed in tourist clothes, who had pretended he was taking pictures of the surrounding provincial buildings when he realized Bly had taken note of his presence. Bly was not to be fooled though. He knew the man had taken enough shots of him talking with Shaw to make it imperative that he silence this witness. Bly had been pleased with the skill of the assassination, his knife slicing across the man's throat, cutting off any cry of alarm. He could only hope that the man's body would not be discovered too soon even though Bly was skilled enough to make it look like a mugging gone wrong. More importantly, he hoped this man had not been under Troy's supervision.

Peter Troy.

Bly jumped up from the bed, sliding one hand through his hair, feeling the short strands between his fingers. His hair had grown while he was recovering from his own cut throat and he had decided not to bother having it cut once he was finally released from the hospital. He grabbed a stick of gum from the bedside cabinet and chewed thoughtfully, wishing he could appease his craving for a cigarette. Had it really been four months since he had taken his last heady drag of nicotine? Four months since Eleanor Hooks had gained a third eye, drilled through the center of her forehead by a bullet? Four months since Neil Shaw had turned the table on his masters - and on him?

Four months since Peter Troy had entered his life?

 

To be truthful, he had only hazy recollection of those first few days after losing his battle with Shaw at the United Nations building. He had lost a lot of blood and had been raced into surgery to have the chunk of glass that was embedded in his neck removed. It was those deep blue eyes that he recalled, staring down at him, curiosity within their depths. After four months he could still not resolve those ancient eyes within the youthful body, often wondering what horrors Troy must have witnessed to gain such an old soul.

Those eyes haunted him. They were always watching him when they were in the same room together, although the look was often indecipherable - and they invaded his dreams each night. At first he had assumed Troy was monitoring him, watching him for some sign of betrayal, waiting for him to slip up and reveal that he had been more than just a soldier taking orders from Eleanor Hooks. Of course that could never happen. Even though Hooks had given him a substantial bonus for setting up Shaw, it was nothing out of the extraordinary for an agent of his type. The service was not like the FBI; there was no monthly paycheck for assassins that could be traced back to Uncle Sam. He was paid handsomely for each assignment, always aware that a time might come when his 'masters' no longer considered him and then there would be no more calls. He had half-expected that to happen after the debacle with Neil Shaw, after all, he was not exactly a youngster anymore - and he had been seriously injured.

Bly sat back down on his bed, staring at his reflection in the vanity mirror above the chest of drawers. He tilted his head to expose the still livid looking scars, then his eyes raked up to his face, noting the fine lines that had appeared at the corners of his eyes. He pursed his lips, seeing the evidence of an older scar that had left a line across his lower lip, barely remembering how that had happened.

Not getting any younger.

It occurred to Bly that these two-bit surveillance tasks might be all he was offered in the future - and they did not pay exceptionally well when compared to infiltration and assassination. Over the years he had managed to secrete away a fair proportion of what he had earned and, if the last statement from his financial advisor was correct, then he was a wealthy man. Unless that was all lies, then he had more than enough to retire on and lead a comfortable life.

Comfortable?

That was the problem. He had spent all his life getting an adrenaline high from his work. He enjoyed the pleasure of flitting from one task to another, a free spirit, testing himself to the limit. He spent hours honing his skills and he knew that there was one area that Neil Shaw could never beat him. Bly was a crack marksman, his deadly accuracy with knife or gun almost legendary within the Service. Could he survive the boredom of merely being comfortable?

Bly frowned, two deep parallel lines creasing between his eyebrows.

Did he have any choice in the matter?

Bly thought about the man he had killed today. No one had seen him, of that he felt certain, and yet he knew he ought to bring it to Troy's attention. He paused with his finger hovering over the cellphone's keypad, suddenly aware that his reason for contacting Troy had less to do with the killing and more to do with his need to see the man. His heart began to hammer, his breath quickening as he thought of Peter Troy.

Bly slammed the phone down on bed, burying his head in his hands, eyes screwed tightly shut. He couldn't explain it, this confusion he felt whenever he thought of Troy, the way his palms would sweat, and his heart race whenever he saw the man. He had never felt this way about any person before, had never allowed himself to get close enough to any person before. It was the weeks in hospital with Troy as his only visitor that had opened up the floodgates, giving him a strange reliance on Troy for a break in the monotony of each pain-filled day. He had come to cherish every moment, becoming sullen and despairing on those few occasions when Troy had not come to sit with him.

After they released him from the hospital he had seen far less of Troy and he had come up with one pretext or another to justify his twice-weekly presence in Troy's office. Troy had never once turned him away, even though they rarely spoke more than a few words to each other. Often he would find himself lounging on the small couch, and those indecipherable blue eyes would flick across to him from time to time. Sometimes Bly fancied that he had seen something recognizable, perhaps a reflection of the same confusion he felt in Troy's presence.

All Bly knew for certain was that he had never noticed how lonely his existence was until he met Peter Troy, a loneliness that seemed to echo deep into his psyche. He stared back at his reflection in the mirror, seeing the need for company so plainly written in his own eyes and, with decision made, Bly picked up his cellphone and set up a meeting.

-ooOOoo-

The waves of the Mediterranean were sweeping across the fine sand with a familiar hushing noise. It reminded Telamon of his distant youth and the many times he had stood on the shore looking out across the sea all the while wondering why there were never any ships. According to the older refugees, until the Blue Priest came, the city of Troy had been a busy trading center, the sea crowded with sailing vessels from every corner of Greece and beyond. Minoans and Phoenicians stood side by side with Athenians in the market place selling their exotic wares, and dark-skinned people from as far away as the lands of Nubia would dance and display bolts of brightly colored cloth.

After Hercules defeated the Blue Priest the people had moved back into the city but, even decades later, that former level of free trade had never returned. The people had spent too many years in exile and had become too afraid of strangers entering the city - and then had come the Trojan war. Ten years of siege and fighting had taken its toll, and when Agamemnon's forces finally breached the walls through deception, the city had been ransacked and most of the people enslaved.

Telamon sighed heavily, realising he was deliberately turning his thoughts away from this coming meeting - or rather from the man he was meeting. He let his mind bring forth the image of Robert Bly from the first time he saw him.

Bly had seemed so small and fragile, lying in the hospital bed with machines breathing for him, a mass of tubing and electronic monitors surrounding his prone body. Crisp white bandages were wrapped around his hands and his throat, protecting the sutures closing the jagged glass cuts. It was obvious that he had, unsuccessfully, tried to pull out the shard of glass embedded in his throat, cutting his hands in the process. If he had succeeded then he would have died within seconds. Bly's pale face was marked with small cuts and gashes, his whole body mottled with bruising from the fight between him and Shaw.

At first Telamon had sat with Bly each day out of duty, wanting to be there when the man first woke up, not that he expected to gain any quick answers to any questions. It was obvious that Bly would not be talking to anyone for a long time - if ever. Three days after the incident at the UN building, Bly had awoken and Telamon had leaned over and gazed into the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. They were not a deep emerald green blazing like jewels, nor were they a deep ocean green churning with hidden depths. Instead, they were the soft green of the forest ferns that he remembered from his childhood. He had been captivated by those eyes from the first, thrown headlong back into those almost forgotten days.

"Troy?"

The soft whisper reached him and he turned, finding himself caught in the soft green gaze that had drawn him from the very first, but Telamon dampened his thoughts, closing his expression to one of seeming indifference, regaining his new persona of Peter Troy.

"Bly."

He indicated towards a seat and then he took the seat opposite, facing the mortal whose eyes haunted his dreams. He noticed that Bly was wearing a high-collared sweatshirt but, otherwise, was making no attempt to hide the ragged scar. Bly quickly recovered from a moment of confusion when a waiter came over with a menu, and Telamon realized Bly had assumed they were only there to talk.

"The lamb is especially good."

Bly nodded and gave the waiter his order, a slight pursing of his lips when he had to repeat his words a little louder to make himself heard above the sound of the sea against the shore. Telamon felt a moment of regret. He didn't want Bly to feel uneasy, he wanted...

Telamon broke off on that thought, suddenly wondering what he did want from Bly. He had not taken a lover in decades and, even though he knew from his files that Bly had no problem with same sex relationships, Telamon wasn't certain he wanted to open himself up to more pain. His last lover had come to hate him, loathing the way Telamon stayed forever young while he grew old. It was a sharp reminder of why he never stayed too long in any single relationship, or in any one place, but then, parting from most of his former lovers had not been heart breaking. Although he found much pleasure with them, he had always been aware of what he was and had rarely trusted any with that knowledge. Instead he let the relationship fall apart, often let them make the first move to separate. He swallowed a mouthful of wine to cover the nasty taste in his mouth as he considered how callous that sounded - even to him.

However, there was something different about his feelings for Bly. He had discovered that beneath the damaged body was an irrepressible spirit with a wicked sense of humor and a passion for walking the edge. Bly was an adrenaline junkie, but he was also an incredibly skilled warrior.

Would that the Trojan army had you on its side then Agamemnon would not have been victorious.

He had watched Bly's single-minded pursuit in rebuilding his strength and physical prowess from the moment Bly was able to move. It had not been unusual to find the hospital staff arguing with him that he was doing too much, too soon, but Bly would laugh them off and carry on, pushing his body to its limits each time.

Telamon let images of that beautiful body fill his mind, seeing the ripple of muscle sliding beneath lightly-tanned skin as Bly followed a strict, self-regimented set of exercises used to strengthen and aid co-ordination. After almost four months of intensive workouts, there being nothing else to do why he healed from his throat injury, Telamon had not been surprised when he arrived at the Firm's gym very early one morning to find Bly already there. He had watched, awe-struck by the lithe form twisting and arching in a series of exercises that made Neil Shaw's kick boxing escape on Millennium Day look like a wooden puppet pulled on a string. This wasn't just martial art - it was poetry in motion.

A clatter from a nearby table pulled his thoughts back to the present, and to the man seated opposite. Dinner was eaten in silence but that suited Telamon. It gave him an excuse to watch Bly covertly. A smile creased his lips as Bly ate quickly, as if his life depended on never being still for too long - and yet, Telamon was aware of the patience Bly could display when necessary. Surveillance required sitting for hours in a vehicle watching monitors, or trailing a mark for days, if necessary, to find the perfect time to execute an assassination.

With the meal out of the way, Telamon pursed his lips and waited, knowing Bly could read his expression and know what was expected of him.

"I killed someone today. An Asian down at the harbor who was pretending to be a tourist. He had a camera, and he took several shots of me... and I believe I had seen him before at the UN building about five months ago."

"I see. And the body?"

"I made it look like a mugging gone wrong."

Telamon nodded. He already knew about the killing and had notified his people to monitor the police investigation to make sure nothing came back that could implicate Bly or anyone else on the team.

"I appreciate you telling me, Robert." He smiled. "Wasn't so bad, was it?"

"You already knew."

"Of course."

"Was he one of us?"

"No. He was working for the Chinese government. We've been keeping tabs on him for months, especially after he was spotted... as you so rightly said, in the UN building on several occasions."

Bly nodded and Telamon could see the disquiet in the clear green eyes, not needing to be a genius to understand Bly's unease. He had no doubts that Bly was wondering what action he would have taken had Bly not come forward with this information, and knew Bly was probably wondering if he ought to mention his unexpected meeting with Neil Shaw as well. Shaw was not a problem - politically. The man had chosen to disappear, pretending to be shot down while resisting arrest, although Telamon's people knew better and had kept tabs on the former UN agent. What Telamon wanted from Robert Bly was his trust but this was something that Bly would never give easily.

Chapter 13. The Doomed Spy. Sacrificing an agent without his knowledge to turn the battle in your favor. Befriending him, gaining his trust, all the while setting him up to take the fall.

Bly was well versed in the Art of War, had executed the contents of that particular chapter with deadly precision and therefore would be on his guard for a similar betrayal. Only problem was that Telamon had no intention of sacrificing Bly, but he was at a loss to how he could convince Bly of this. He stared across at the handsome face, his own guard falling for a moment as his eyes ranged over the long-desired man. Quickly, Telamon masked his desire but the strange glint creeping into those fern-green eyes told him Bly had seen something in his own.

-ooOOoo-

Bly tried to keep his expression blank as he assimilated what he had seen in the bright blue eyes. It was more than just interest, there had also been the heat of desire. With an impulsiveness that had caused him plenty of trouble in the past, Bly came to a decision, his lips forming a quirky smile as he imagined what would happen if he were mistaken.

"My hotel room's not far from here."

Those blue eyes widened fractionally, as if startled by the directness of Bly's approach, but Bly had seen no need for subtlety here. He knew what he wanted and, if he had read Peter Troy correctly, then he knew Troy wanted the same. Troy laid a credit card on the table and they waited in silence while the waiter dealt with the bill, though Bly could swear he could see a rising of the passion in those eyes as the interminable minutes passed.

They walked together, side by side and yet not touching, barely even glancing at each other in case they should lose what little control remained. All too soon the door of the hotel room was closed and locked behind them and Bly let his mask of indifference drop, allowing the heat of his own desire to make itself known to his intended lover. He grinned as Troy stepped forward, arms reaching out to draw him into his embrace, head tilting so their lips could meet in that first sweet kiss. Bly melted into the kiss. It had been too long since he had allowed himself to be held by another but he did not want to rush this, he wanted to savor the feel of arms around him, and the sensation of lips pressed against his own. Experienced lips nibbled at him, a confident tongue pressing inside his mouth to claim him as the kiss deepened.

They drew apart, both of them breathing heavily. They began to undress slowly, bodies swaying, muscles flexing as if the act of unclothing was part of a ritual dance performed for the other's pleasure. Bly felt a moment of insecurity as he stood naked before Troy, his hand moving to the ragged scar along his neck but those ancient eyes softened in reassurance. Troy stepped back into Bly's arms, tongue lapping across the scarred flesh, surprising Bly with how sensitive the area was, gasping as a surge of pleasure coursed through his body until even his fingertips were tingling with pure sensation.

Troy nudged him backwards, covering his body as they fell onto the large bed; mouth, tongue and lips giving oral worship to every exposed inch of Bly's flesh. Hands trailed over his flanks, fingers curling over his hips to dig into his ass cheeks as Troy's mouth latched onto one nipple, sharp teeth raking across the tightened nub then bathing away the sting with soft laps of his tongue.

Bly moaned, knowing he had lost the upper hand but uncaring, his mind and body reveling in the domination as Troy moved down his body. His hardened shaft was drawn into the heat of the welcoming mouth while deft fingers stroked along the cleft of his ass, playing across the tight ring of muscle.

He gasped, blinking rapidly in confusion when Troy pulled away.

"Need some lubricant."

"Drawer."

Bly swallowed hard, knowing he had just given his consent for what would happen next. It had been a long time since he had taken the subordinate role in a sexual encounter and he found himself a little fearful, afraid of dropping his guard, of giving his trust to this man. Troy poured out a little of the hand lotion, coating his fingers with the thick, slippery liquid but he became motionless, eyes locked onto Bly's.

"We don't have to do this... if you're not ready."

"It's okay. Just been a while, that's all."

"Same for me... but we can take it slow and easy. We've got all night."

The fear drained away with the knowledge that, young as he looked, Troy knew what he was doing and Bly felt safe in his hands, willing to trust Troy with his body tonight. He relaxed as one lotion-slicked finger flicked across the entrance to his body, sighing as the fingertip eased inside. The head of his engorged flesh was drawn into the hot mouth, tongue swirling over the blunt tip, dipping into the groove then pressing hard against the bunch of sensitive nerve endings, drawing a soft cry of pleasure from him. He became almost unaware of the fingers that thrust steadily into his body, opening him up for a larger presence. Bly could feel the energy building up inside him, his balls tightening as the delicious sensations radiated out from his groin and he mewed in dismay when Troy pulled back once more.

"Want to be in you."

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax as his legs were pushed back and the blunt tip of Troy's erection pressed against his body. He grunted softly as the large head breached the entrance, feeling internal muscles burn pleasantly against the welcome intrusion as he was slowly filled.

"So good. So tight."

A litany of words fell from Troy's lips like a prayer. Soft lips caressed his perspiring face, trailed along his jawline and then nuzzled against his scarred throat, sending fresh spikes of pleasure coursing through him as they sucked and bit in possession. Strong fingers, slick with lotion, wrapped around his aching flesh, sliding from root to tip as Troy pulled partway out of his body only to thrust back hard, sinking deep into his willing body.

They rode together, hard and furious, all thoughts of taking it slow and easy lost within the maelstrom of exquisite sensation. Bly cried out hoarsely as every nerve ending ignited, sending him spinning over the edge, suspended in time and space for an eternity before the tidal wave of pure pleasure swept over him. When he could think again, he realized Troy was slumped on top of him, his innards bathed in wet heat, the hardened flesh filling him growing softer.

Troy raised himself to his elbows above Bly, a hazy grin plastered to his face. He leaned down to capture Bly's lips, sealing their lovemaking with a gentle kiss before easing his softened sex from the sheath of Bly's body.

Bly lay there, listening as his lover's harsh breathing slowed. Part of him had been hoping that having Peter Troy in his bed would banish his troubling fantasies but, instead, the reality had proved more wonderful than his dreams. He knew that he wanted more, that he wanted as much as Troy would give but the thought occurred to him that this single night might be all he was granted. Bly rolled onto his side and faced Troy, eyes taking in the rise and fall of the sweat-slicked chest before traveling up the golden column of a strong neck to the handsome face above. He licked his lips as he gazed at the slightly-parted, kiss-swollen lips of his lover, committing to memory every detail; the straight nose, the high arch of the dark brows and those sapphire blue eyes that sparkled like a child's at Christmas. He felt his spirit soar, knowing he had rejuvenated the light in those ancient eyes, albeit for just this one moment in time.

Bly thought about the Art of War, about the doomed spy. Neil Shaw had been the puppet pulled on a string, a pawn sacrificed to turn the tide of battle, unaware of the part he was playing. Bly realized that same game might be playing out right now with him as the doomed spy but, suddenly, he no longer cared. He had looked deep into those eyes, and he had seen something far more than mere lust evident in their azure blue depths. Perhaps it was all a set-up. Perhaps he was being laid upon the altar ready to be sacrificed to whatever principle or design of his masters, but he lay there knowingly, willing to accept whatever the Fates might have in store for him if it could mean just one more minute in this man's arms.

-ooOOoo-

Telamon raised a hand and swept back a damp strand of dark blond hair that had fallen over the tall forehead. He had almost convinced himself that his desire for Bly would burn itself out once he had consummated that lust, but Telamon knew that had been a hopeless thought. After more than two millennia he knew himself well enough to know his attraction to Robert Bly was no passing fancy. He had never felt so strongly about any person before he met Bly, and holding this man in his arms had strengthened that feeling.

He gave a soft laugh as he nuzzled against the damp hair, trying to keep the bitterness in abeyance. After centuries of experiencing love he had finally fallen in love, but not just with the lithe body. He was drawn by the quicksilver mind, the zest for life and the warrior spirit inhabiting this body. He had never met anyone like Bly before and something told him that he would never meet the like again.

Telamon felt the burn of tears behind his eyes, already grieving for the short time they would have together, already seeing a time when he would no longer have this warm, responsive man in his arms. Even if Bly could love him back with the same intensity of passion, their time together was limited by his vastly shorter life span.

Telamon could see the empty centuries stretching out before him, his heart already starting to break with loss.

A rumbling filled the room, objects rocking, falling to the floor as the room shook as if in the grip of an earthquake.

"What the..?"

Telamon wrapped his arms tight around his lover as darkness filled one corner of the room, gradually coalescing into the figure of a woman he had not seen in several Millennia.

Hecate stared down at the mortal-made-eternal that had slain her beloved son, a strange smile twisting her lips as her eyes swept over the man lying in his arms. She held out her arms to Bly, beckoning him to her and Telamon found himself powerless to hold onto the hypnotized figure of his lover.

"No."

He cried out as she wrapped herself around the beautiful, lean frame, drawing Bly to her breast and cradling his blond head upon her shoulder.

"Please. I've suffered enough. I've grieved for my own sons. I've watched loved ones grow old an die as the years wore on."

"And yet you have only just discovered the true depth of this mother's grief... eternity lying before you without the companionship of one's beloved."

"Please don't take him. I beg of you as one who has known this grief."

Telamon cried out as the ground opened again, swallowing the goddess and taking with her his lover. His limbs were released from their paralysis and, with shock, he found himself alone with only the rumpled bed and the heady smell of spent passion to remind him of the lover who had been taken from him.

Telamon swallowed hard, the haunted look of a millennia of existence filling his eyes once more as he gazed about the room, assailed on all sides by the recent memories. He saw again the slow, erotic dance as each item of clothing was stripped from his lover's frame, he touched the indentation in the pillow where Bly's head had lain, strands of his golden hair fanning out. He could feel the dampness of spilled seed on the rucked sheets beneath his fingertips, could remember the pleasure-filled face as he thrust deep into Bly's body, emptying himself into the beautiful vessel.

Hercules.

Telamon bolted upright. He had not sought out his old friend for over a thousand years. He knew Hercules was still in this world having taken his place among the Gods after the jealous Queen of the Gods, was persuaded by his father, Zeus, to drop her enmity and to adopt Hercules as her own son.

Telamon dressed quickly, grateful that he was but a short distance, in this modern world, from the home of the Gods: Mount Olympus. He would travel to northern Greece and beg assistance from Hercules.

-ooOOoo-

It was such a strange dream, seeing that familiar face from his childhood beckoning to him, feeling the warmth of her arms enfolding him. Bly sat up and stared around the room, focusing on the rich tapestries that adorned the walls displaying mythical scenes and monsters. A golden basin lay on the ornate table, fine cloths draped over its side. He recalled part of his dream where his long-dead mother bathed him, her gentle voice soothing him, the crystal clear water seeming to wash away all his worries. He had woken up feeling refreshed, and revitalized except for one detail: Peter Troy was not here.

Bly remembered their lovemaking, the feel of Troy's strong body moving over him, the welcoming hardness filling him. When he had offered himself up for just one more minute in those loving arms, Bly had never expected to be taken at his word, had never expected to be torn from his new lover.

It's just a dream.

But which was the dream? Making love with Troy, or lying naked on these silken sheets in the strangely familiar room?

Bly pinched his own flesh, feeling the sharpness of pain and watching the skin redden but there was no change in the room around him, nothing to indicate that this was a dream. The door opened and the dark-haired woman who had taken him from Troy's bed entered, a loving smile on her hauntingly beautiful face.

It has to be a dream.

"Mom?"

"So you do remember me, my beloved."

"No. You're dead. This has to be a dream."

She sat down on the bed beside him, one fine-boned hand smoothing the long strands of golden hair that had fallen across his face.

"You are so beautiful. You are your father's son."

"Where's Peter Troy?"

"Telamon? The murderer of your half-brother? He is beginning an eternity of grief."

"Telamon?"

His mother rose gracefully to her feet and Bly tracked her progress around the opulent room until he attention was caught by something far more surprising. He stood up, uncaring of his nudity and stepped towards one of the high pillars that framed the doorway. The surface had been polished to such a high sheen that it reflected his image like a mirror. Bly stared at the youthful figure reflecting back at him, his hand touching his face in awe.

"I bathed you in the waters taken from the spring at Canathus so that you might be restored to your youth... as befitting my beautiful son of Apollo."

Bly shook his head, more confused than ever and convinced that this was all some weird dream. He felt a moment of doubt, wondering if Troy had drugged his food or his drink when they dined together, almost convinced he was in the grip of some LSD-induced nightmare. He did not pull back when his mother cradled him against her breast once more.

"When I sent you to the mortal world, Hades demanded that you drank deep from the waters of the Lethe, forgetting all that you had once been. But I guided your footsteps to the monster that is Telamon, and we have taken our revenge upon him."

Bly pulled back, confusion and fear filling his eyes.

"Be still, my beloved child. The memories will return, and you will have an eternity to know yourself once more."

-ooOOoo-

As the age of ignorance passed away, worship of the old ways, of the old Gods of Olympus faded with it. But Telamon knew those Gods still existed, their capricious tendencies inflicted upon mankind in the form of floods, famines as well as for good in the form of modern-day miracles. However, most of the Gods had ceased to be preoccupied with man, preferring to pass away the centuries among their own kind, and many had not left the great hall of the Olympians in millennia.

Of course, there were some like Ares and his twin sister, Eris, aided by their entourage of warmongers who would never cease to interfere with man, spreading hatred and discord and inciting wars.

Knowing of their true existence, however, was no help when trying to actually reach the Gods, and Telamon spent months wandering around the mountain, searching for a way to send a message to Hercules. The lowly shepherd boy tending his flock would have seemed innocuous to most men, but Telamon recognized true power hidden behind the innocent disguise and pleaded his case to be heard. Even so, several more days passed before a blinding light coalesced into the familiar shape of his old friend.

Telamon reached out a hand and they grasped each other on the forearm in the old, traditional greeting of comrades-in-arms.

"It's been a long time, old friend. I came as soon as I heard you were searching for me."

Telamon nodded his thanks.

"I need your help."

Hercules sat cross-legged before the campfire, drinking honeyed wine and eating wild hare that Telamon had snared, listening intently to the story related, his compassion reaching out to soothe some of Telamon's fear. Eventually Hercules spoke.

"If he wasn't dead then Hecate had no right to take him back to Tartarus with her. We can petition my father on those grounds, though under the ancient Law of Abode, if your Bly has accepted any hospitality from her then he may no longer be considered a captive but rather a guest."

"I know. Same thing happened to Persephone. But Zeus has the right to overturn even the Law of Abode if so wishes."

"Hmmm. He may not want to cause any friction between himself and his brother, Hades. And Zeus does admire this chthonian goddess, has favored Hecate throughout time."

"You entered Tartarus once before and rescued Theseus. Can you not dare this again, and help me free Bly?"

"Let me look into this first. See what's happened to your Bly, and then we can make our plans."

Hercules disappeared in a brilliant flash of light leaving Telamon alone on the mountain once more, but now he had hope in his heart that he might be reunited with his lover of a single night.

When Hercules returned the following night, he sat down by the fire and gazed deep into the flames before turning his attention to Telamon.

"Well. I have good news, and I have bad news. Any preference to the order?"

"I'll take the bad news first."

"By the Law of Abode, your Bly is no longer a captive of Hecate's. He cannot leave Tartarus without her approval."

Telamon swallowed hard, knowing this was a great setback. "And the good news?"

"Hmmm... well, this may or may not be good news. Depends on how you want to take it."

"Hercules?" Telamon urged his friend to continue.

"Bly is not mortal. He's a God. He was fathered by Apollo and his mother is... his mother is Hecate."

Telamon felt crushed. He was the doomed spy, befriended by Hecate's beautiful son, his trust and his love gained, and all the while Bly had been setting him up to take the highest fall. With a heavy heart he listened on.

"She sent him out into the mortal world on purpose, to bring you grief, but if the rumors I hear are true, it kinda backfired on her. Seems he had to drink from the river of forgetfulness before he left Tartarus, so he had no idea he was only supposed to make you fall completely in love with him... so he could gain his mother's revenge upon you for the death of his half-brother."

Telamon raised his head, a small spark of hope stirring back into life.

"Which means?"

"Which means he fell in love with you, and now he's moping around Tartarus like one of Hades' shades."

Telamon felt his heart still in his chest, filled with joy that Bly had returned his love for him in full measure. Perhaps Bly had set out to destroy him, but that no longer mattered. Bly loved him and, some how, he would be reunited with his beloved.

"So what do we do?"

"We go to Tartarus, and confront Hecate in her lair."

-ooOOoo-

Telamon wrapped the thick cloak tighter around his body as they wandered through the mist towards the River Styx, mingling among others as they wandered through the strange land, watching as many stopped to assuage their raging thirst in a small river of cool, crystal clear water. Telamon stopped, scooping up some of the water in his cupped palm but Hercules prevented him from drinking, and confusion faded when he realized this was the fabled river of forgetfulness, the Lethe. Eventually they came to the great river Styx and there, waiting for them with a bony hand extended, was the ferryman. Telamon drew the hood of the cloak further forward to hide his face, knowing that Charon would refuse him admittance under Hecate's orders should the Ferryman recognize his features.

"Charon. I've come to guide my friend here to Tartarus."

Hercules produced some silver coins and placed them onto the outstretched palm and then he stepped into the boat, and Telamon followed close behind, keeping his face lowered and seating himself next to his oldest living friend. Others stepped onto the boat as well, but there were many more who hovered on the bank, begging the implacable Charon when he refused to let them board.

Telamon watched as the shore gradually disappeared, and the only sound penetrating the thick curtain of mist was the gentle swishing as the waters parted before the boat. All too soon Telamon fancied he could see the distant shore ahead of them, his heart racing as he realized that the first hurdle was almost over. He had made it into Tartarus.

Together, he and Hercules walked through the land of shades. Most seemed to be wandering aimlessly, milling about in confusion then drawing back in fear when others approached them. In the distance, Telamon could hear shrieks from sinners who were thrown into the fiery river of Phlegethon to cleanse them of their indiscretions in their mortal lives, knowing that some might spend eternity within those cleansing flames.

Hercules grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the edge of the road, and they waited as an assortment of demons passed along, hearing the mixed sound as each demon's brass hoof clinked and each donkey's hoof clomped against the glassy surface of the road. The air was filled with the beating of their leathery wings and the high cackles of their inhuman voices as they tormented the shades that walked along the road.

"The Empurae, attendants to Hecate."

Telamon frowned, his eyes narrowing as he saw the familiar dark chariot and fire-breathing horses among the throng of demons. He recognized the aristocratic features of the Queen of Roads, seeing a reflection of his missing lover in her lovely yet cruel face. Her eyes were the same fern green, her mouth held the same shape; the full lower lip and the gentle curve of the Cupid's bow in the upper. Having never seen the god Apollo, Telamon was unsure if this beautiful mouth was a family trait of cousins, passed onto their son, but already he had guessed that the Sun God had blessed his son with the rest of his radiance. Telamon wondered also whether Bly's deadly accuracy with gun, crossbow and knife was also a gift from his father, for Apollo was a superb archer, surpassed by none.

The Queen of Roads cracked her scorpion whip, seeming to know which shades deserved her retribution, and leaving alone those of virtue who were traveling to the Elysium Fields.  
Once she had passed by, Hercules stepped back out from the shadows, drawing Telamon with him, and they carried on their journey.

"I thought we came here to confront her?"

"In her lair, not out here on the road surrounded by her minions. And we need for you to be reunited with Bly first."

"Is that his true name?"

"Sort of... it's Blythe."

Telamon nodded, suddenly aware of certain aspects of Robert Bly's character - of Blythe - that had given rise to the word derived from his name; the free spirit, so carelessly casual in his joy for life. As always, those thoughts of Bly sent his mind back to that last day, to the pleasure of holding Bly, watching his face transform into pure ecstasy as he was swept away with the passion of their union.

"I've got to get him back."

-ooOOoo-

Bly wandered around the lands of Tartarus, feeling as insubstantial as the wraiths that twittered and moaned as they demanded audiences of Hades and were ignored. His memory of his existence before the short time he spent in the mortal world was preying on his mind. He recalled his hideous but loving older half-brother, Sagor, who liked to carry him upon the shelf of bone between his two heads, always attentive to his younger sibling's needs.

Sagor's father had been Chrysaeor, the son of a monster who had fathered many monsters and yet had been a handsome warrior known as the Chieftain of the Golden Spear. It was the number of dead arriving in Tartarus, victims of the brood of monsters spawned by Chrysaeor that had first brought the handsome warrior to Hecate's attention. Like many others she had fallen for his beauty and she had bore him a son; a son whom she had adored.

Telamon had slain his beloved brother, and had shown no compassion for his mother's grief. He hated Telamon... didn't he?

No.

"Bly? Are you here too?"

Bly looked up and found himself face to face with a person from his recent past, seeing the burned edges of her clothing, possibly scorched in the river of fire. He had not mourned when he learned of the death of Eleanor Hooks, for the scheming woman had gained her just reward for dabbling with the art of war.

"I tried to find someone in charge but no one will listen to me. I am an important person, the Chief of Security at the United Nations."

"Not any more. Now you're a nobody."

He turned and walked away, ignoring her irate name calling and then her screams when she was pounced upon by the brass-clawed, brass-winged Erinyes, who had been charged with watching over the son of their mistress, Hecate, during his wandering s through Tartarus. Curiosity won out and he turned to watch as Hooks scurried away. The creatures, who were known to many as the Furies, carried on tormenting the woman, beating at her with their wings and striking at her with their sharp claws and teeth.

"Bly?"

Another voice, but this one sent his heart skipping a beat. He twisted round, frowning as a cloaked figure came towards him. The hood was pulled aside and Bly could not hold back a cry of pleasure as he gazed upon the man he had come to love. Telamon reached for him and Bly moved into his arms, their lips meeting in a brutal kiss, desperate to reclaim each other.

Hercules cleared his throat and Bly stepped back, startled at having not noticed the massive presence before now. Telamon gazed at him, those azure blue eyes ranging over his face and body like a thirsty man finding an oasis in the desert. Some confusion appeared and Bly realized what had captured his lover's attention. He did not bother to hide his true identity, well aware that Hercules, his father's half-brother, would already know his lineage.

"I allowed myself to age in the mortal world. My mother rejuvenated me when I returned."

Mention of Hecate was a sobering thought and Bly sighed, glancing away into the distance where he could still make out the Erinyes tormenting Eleanor Hooks, punishing her for her offensive remarks towards the young god.

"Sagor may have been a bit of a brute, but he was loved by my mother... and by me."

 

Telamon nodded.

"I won't lie to you, Bly. In all these millennia I have never once regretted slaying your brother, although I did him dishonor in killing him while he slept. I believed I was right at the time, and I still believe that now. But I do regret my lack of feeling towards your mother. I was young... and more than a little foolish in those days."

Bly sighed heavily, his eyes flicking back to the distant Eleanor Hooks.

"You'd best go before the Erinyes come back, otherwise you will be the one to feel their fury."

"I'm not leaving Tartarus without you... even if that means I have to stay here forever being tormented by the Furies. It would be worth it just to behold you from time to time."

Bly turned back to Telamon, stunned by the determination and love so evident in the strong voice. His eyes crinkled up with the familiar irrepressible grin, suddenly buoyed by Telamon's resolve, knowing that Telamon meant every word.

"Well, we can't have that."

Hercules interjected, gesturing towards the demons that were still tormenting the unfortunate woman.

"Blythe is right. We have to leave here before the Erinyes remember they are supposed to be watching over him." He turned to his nephew. "We need to find a way to get an audience with Hecate... preferably alone."

"Well that's not going to be a problem." Bly took a chain from around his neck, holding it up to display the ornate, golden key. "This will get you into the Chthonian Palace."

He gave Hercules and Telamon directions to the part of Hades palace where his mother, her offspring and her entourage of demons resided, and then he reached out and drew Telamon into a gentle kiss that was, nonetheless, full of passion.

With lighter footsteps, Bly walked away, searching his mind for a solution to the dilemma ahead of them, recalling every chapter of the Art of War. He would treat this like a battle campaign to be drawn up against his mother, for if he and Telamon were ever to have a chance then, somehow, he had to bring Telamon back into Hecate's favor.

-ooOOoo-

The Chthonian palace was a menacing structure reaching high into the cavernous sky, its obsidian walls polished to a high gleam, reflecting the light from a thousand fires. Hercules and Telamon crossed many rivers as they made their way towards it, constantly on guard for the minions of Hecate who watched over the land of shades. More than once Telamon was grateful for his friend's presence, thankful for the strong arms that saved him from falling into a chasm of fire that had opened beneath his feet, and for the gentle spirit that kept his hopes raised.

A tributary of the Phlegethon, the river of fire, was the last obstacle they had to cross in order to reach the Chthonian palace. However, the only bridge was a bottleneck as shades tried to pass in both directions; some to bring a petition to Hades, others returning, their tears of frustration and futility drunk by an uncaring Hades. Telamon understood their frustration, his own rising as he realized it might take months to make a passage through the throng of close-packed bodies. He could almost feel the walls of the palace mocking him, and he turned to Hercules in dismay.

Hercules was standing on the bank, looking across the wide river of fire, ignoring the shrieks of those that either fell or were pushed into its fiery depths. As Telamon watched, he saw a shade shove hard against his friend's broad back. His lips curled in a smile at the look of long sufferance Hercules bestowed upon the malicious shade before grasping one bony wrist and sending the shade spinning into the River Phlegethon.

"There might be an easier place to cross down river."

Telamon nodded, knowing how hard it must be for Hercules to keep his god-like powers hidden, but Hercules had insisted that it would be better if they both pretended to be mortals so they could reach the palace unannounced. Another full day passed as they walked along the riverbank. Telamon stopped suddenly, seeing the gnarled tree whose branches stretched out around it like skeletal fingers. One of those branches stretched partway across the river before it was truncated.

"I have an idea. If we climbed out on that branch together, would you be able to throw me from there to the distant bank?"

Hercules raised both eyebrows then looked at the slighter man and nodded, a broad smile spreading over his face.

"I reckon I can do that."

Hercules picked up Telamon and boosted him up into the ancient tree, swiftly following. Together they balanced along the thick branch, ignoring the inquisitive shades that had gathered to watch them. Hercules took up a firm stance then picked up Telamon.

"Ready?"

Telamon took a deep breath, aware of the consequences should this fail. He nodded his head, eyes widening as, in the next moment, he felt himself flying high above the fiery river. He could see the fast approaching bank and felt a moment of fear when he realized he might not make it. He stretched out his arms, fingers scrabbling at the rocks and roots, giving praise to Hercules and all the other gods as his descent into the fire was halted.

A soft thud sounded from above and then a strong arm descended to him. Telamon grasped the thick forearm and, slowly, he was pulled back up. He lay on his back, eyes closed as he regained his breath, and then he started to chuckle.

"The things I'm prepared to do for you, Blythe."

Telamon sat up, feeling a deep rumble of laughter form his friend, knocked forward hard by the gentle pat on his back. His eyes snapped open when he heard shrieks, and he sighed as several shades tried to imitate his flight, falling short to land in the river of fire.

"Let's go on."

Telamon accepted a hand and was drawn to his feet. Ahead of them lay the high walls of the palace, and the only remaining obstacle was gaining entrance. Telamon fingered the golden key lying on a chain around his neck, his thoughts returning to his golden-haired, green-eyed lover; to his Bly.

And he drew strength from that vision.

-ooOOoo-

"You seem much happier, my child."

Blythe gave a soft smile and accepted the beautifully wrought goblet filled with nectar. All his memories had returned, filling him with both sadness and pleasure. He knew Telamon was out there, slowly making his way into the palace for he had been able to track his progress covertly. His one regret was that he had yet to find a way to be reunited with his lover without causing harm or hurt to his mother - and then there was Hecate's curse.

Part of that curse was to wander forever but, should the curse be broken then Telamon would no longer be immortal. Although Blythe had many powers, conferring true immortality was not one of them. Only few of the Gods had this ability, most others having only the ability to confer immortality by metamorphosis; turning the recipient into a tree, a brook, a flower or an animal.

Blythe wanted Telamon to remain immortal in human form, just as he was now, so that they might remain companions and lovers for the rest of eternity. Although his mother had the ability to grant immortality, grief and rage still held her, though not quite so tightly within its grasp now she had seen her revenge for Sagor. However, his mother was proud and so she would not easily be persuaded to find compassion for Telamon, not even by him. Despite this, he held hope in his heart for he had seen that glimmer of returning happiness in his mother's beautiful eyes.

A slight motion beyond the doorway caught his attention and he barely held in check a smile of greeting as he recognized the longed-for face. Telamon stood beside his friend, Hercules, fingering the golden key that Blythe had given to him. Blythe nodded, surreptitiously, aware that the time had come.

Sun Tzu had stated: 'Attack when they are unprepared, make your move when they do not expect it.'

Hercules held out a massive arm to prevent Telamon from taking a step forward and then he moved into the room, waiting patiently until Hecate saw him, watching her face alight with pleasure.

"Hercules."

"My father sends his fondest regards."

Hecate rose to her feet, the pleasure fading as she glanced, knowingly, across the room towards her Blythe.

"But I suspect you are not here on your father's business."

"No. I've come to plead with you on behalf of a friend."

"Then you have come here in vain for I will not listen."

"I understand your grief, Hecate. I've spent a lifetime grieving for my own sons, slain by my own hand while under Hera's curse, but if I can find forgiveness for Hera, cannot Hecate do the same for Telamon?"

Hecate hissed, casting her goblet aside in vehemence.

"I will not hear that monster's name spoken in my presence. I will not lose another son to that unfeeling creature."

"Blythe is already lost to him, and I fear he will be lost to you too if you won't listen."

Hecate faltered, glancing back to where Bly sat as still as a statue, watching the battle playing out before him. He could see that his mother had been taken off guard, taking on the look of a trapped animal.

Sun Tzu said, 'A surrounded army must be given a way out' and Bly watched as Hercules proved his mastery in the Art of War, showing Hecate a way to save grace.

"Hera found it within her heart to denounce her enmity towards me and take me for her son. Could you not also gain a son?" Hercules gazed towards his nephew. "And bring great joy to your Blythe."

Hecate turned her fierce gaze upon her one remaining child, her features softening.

"I loved your brother."

"As did I, with all my heart, but I love Telamon with every part of my being."

He wanted to force her to relent, to try and make her see sense but Sun Tzu had also said, 'Do not press a desperate enemy'. His mother had to draw her own conclusions, had to find her own path or she would fight them every step of the way.

Hecate sat down beside Blythe, her delicate hand smoothing down his face as she looked deep into his eyes and saw it was true. She sighed, and Bly saw that glimmer of acceptance in her eyes once more. She had already taken her revenge on Telamon when she stole Bly back to the underworld, and now she was at peace with herself.

"For you, Blythe, I would do anything." She turned to the figure that had moved into the room behind Hercules. "Even this. Come forward, monster. Let me see you."

Bly held his breath as Telamon pulled back the hood of the cloak, sighing when he saw azure blue eyes full of love for him yet full of regret for his former actions too. Hecate moved to stand in front of Telamon, reading him with the skill of a goddess well versed in seeing the truth in a mortal's mind. Bly began to smile as he saw the tight line of her mouth soften, his spirit lifting as she recognized the depth of Telamon's love and compassion, the ice in her eyes beginning to thaw.

"A new son."

-ooOOoo-

Epilogue:

Telamon sighed as he caressed the silky flesh of his lover, one fingernail dragging over a dusky pink nipple, eliciting a soft moan of pleasure from Blythe. The warmth of the early springtime sun bathed their naked flesh as they sprawled upon the sweet meadow grass. The buzzing of insects, and the call of birds filled the air and, every once in a while, they fancied they could hear the rare chatter of mortals passing near by. The voyeuristic thrill of discovery heightened their pleasure, although living out of time with the mortal world made actual detection highly unlikely. To mere mortals they were the indistinct blurs caught out of the corner of a man's eye, invisible when glanced at directly.

Blythe squirmed beneath the knowing fingers, chuckling as they tickled over his ribcage, bringing a grin to Telamon's face. He loved to hear the soft, husky voice filled with laughter and passion, and he loved to watch the lithe figure writhe beneath his questing fingers.

More than a century of mortal time had passed since his journey into the land of Tartarus and yet it all seemed like it had happened only yesterday. He still heard the persuasive words of the gentle and wise Hercules, still saw the thawing in those fern-green eyes that were so alike his beautiful lover's. Hecate had relented, renouncing her animosity towards him, begrudgingly at first, but gradually warming to him as the years passed, and he had been welcomed much as any mother greeted a new son-in-law. Tolerance had turned slowly to acceptance, and acceptance into affection as her cold heart was melted by the happiness she saw in her child's eyes.

"Deep thoughts?"

"Thinking of the past, and of how the Fates led us to this day. I recall the words imparted to me at your father's Oracle at Delphi. 'Salvation lies through blinding by the sun'. It was a riddle I could not solve until the day Hecate released me from her curse yet made me your immortal companion. I thought that it was referring to the sun in the sky but now I know it meant blinding by Apollo's son... by you."

Telamon raised himself up onto one elbow and looked down into his lover's eyes.

"You blinded me from the very first, with your brilliance, your beauty... your zest for life and determination to experience every moment to the fullest. And that was when you were a mere mortal."

"I have only one response to that... flattery will gain you everything."

"Did I ever mention that you're also arrogant, conceited, vain and..."

Telamon moaned as he was dragged down, any further words swallowed by the mouth that latched over his own. He gave in to his lover's demands, surrendering to the knowing hands that roamed his body, submitting to the lips and tongue that possessed him so deeply. When he was released, he lay his head down on the warm shoulder, savoring the scent and touch of his lover, listening to the strong heartbeat.

"You were saying?"

"Hmm?"

He felt as well as heard the soft laughter, moaning as strong fingers wrapped around his lengthening shaft, a thumb sliding over the tip to smear a bead of precome across that sensitive place.

"Thank the gods I'm immortal, or you'd be the death of me, Bly."

His eyes widened as he was rolled swiftly until his back, Bly poised above him wearing that familiar, wicked smile - and nothing else, the heat of desire burning in his soft green eyes. Telamon could feel the soft grass against his skin, tickling his sensitized flesh, but nothing compared to the liquid fire that burned through his veins as Bly bowed his head to lap at one nipple, sharp teeth nipping the tightened bud.

Telamon threw back his head as Bly slowly worked his way down his body in a series of gentle bites and soothing kisses.

"Yessss."

The hot mouth engulfed him, the agile tongue twisting and curling against his heated flesh as he was drawn deep into the luscious mouth. Strong hands held his hips, preventing him from thrusting up into that wonderful heat, his own hands scrabbling to find purchase as the fragile blades of grass were crushed within his fists. He gave up, hands tangling in the golden strands of sun-kissed hair that fell as a curtain, obscuring his view of his lover's attentions to his aching flesh. His fingers carded through the silky hair, dragging aside the curtain to find pleasure-filled eyes raised up to meet his, holding him in their hypnotic gaze as he was swept away in a flood of pure sensation.

Telamon gasped as his senses fell back to the sweet earth, caught by the pleasurable burn as his lover lifted him and entered in one swift stroke, the moistness from their earlier lovemaking easing the path. All too soon Bly reached his own climax, crying out hoarsely as his seed filled Telamon, and then he collapsed beside Telamon.

They lay quietly, allowing their rapid heartbeats to slow, luxuriating in the warmth of the sun upon their naked flesh, and yet savouring the coolness of the gentle breeze that ruffled their hair.

After more than a century, Telamon knew he would never tire of having Blythe in his arms, never regret a single moment of the millennia of loss he had experienced before he found this one true love.

As his lips began to worship Blythe once more, he thought of Hecate's curse, but then, with his heart lifted at the devilish smile in those soft fern-green eyes, he amended the thought and praised the Gods for Hecate's blessing.

THE END


End file.
